


No need to fear it, you're not alone

by TheSevenUmbrellas (RosyPages)



Category: Julie and The Phantoms (TV)
Genre: Agoraphobia, Alex has anxiey, Alex survives AU, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, And is perfect as always, Angst, Anxiety, Bobby dies au, Canonical Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Romance, Grief, Hurt/Comfort, I cried while writing this, M/M, Mourning, Optimistic Ending, Panic Attacks, Rose Ray and Alex are roommates, Willie comes in later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:26:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27714050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RosyPages/pseuds/TheSevenUmbrellas
Summary: Alex absolutely refused to eat out the back of a truck. There were just some lines he wouldn’t cross.An AU where after his band all dies, Alex is left to pick up the pieces.At least he's got a little help from the kind woman he met at the Orpheum.
Relationships: Alex/Willie (Julie and The Phantoms), Ray Molina/Rose
Comments: 41
Kudos: 84





	1. Here's one thing I want you to know / You got some place to go

Alex absolutely refused to eat out the back of a truck. There were just some lines he wouldn’t cross. Becoming a poor, homeless, “tortured” musician (Luke’s words) had brought him to some new lows. He’d eaten nothing but ramen for three weeks straight, he’d salvaged some questionable leftovers from the back of their fridge, and he’d even eaten some of _Bobby’s_ cooking.

He hadn’t eaten almost all day because of nerves. This was the Orpheum. They were playing the _Orpheum_!

Which was exactly why he wasn’t about to risk food poisoning a few hours before the gig of their lives. The second he’d seen the state of the grill and the mustard on the car battery, he’d been out of there.

“Come on, bro,” Reggie called, already drowning his food in… what might have been ketchup. “Street dogs haven’t killed us yet!”

“Yet being the operative word,” Alex called over his shoulder. “I’ll grab a pizza slice and meet you backstage.”

-

He took his time finding dinner. The guys were going to take forever anyway. They always did. He let himself stroll through the streets, taking in the world. It felt like the whole city was awake and partying. Every door to every club was filled with music. Groups of already drunk teenagers filled the streets _. After today, everything changes._

This was their new beginning. Everything was going to be worth it.

-

He was confused how he’d managed to beat the rest of the boys back. But then again, they were known for becoming distracted easily. Alex figured it wasn’t too much to worry about. Bobby was there to keep an eye on Luke and Reggie at least. He’d stop their hijinks if things went too far. Besides, he didn’t think anything could distract Luke from playing at the Orpheum.

Or so he thought. The minutes ticked by. Then half an hour. Then an hour. _Where are they?_

Alex was used to anxiety. He was used to ignoring the screaming panic in the back of his head. Every wandering thought of _they were run over, they were mugged, they’re dead,_ was taken with a grain of salt. The worst never happened.

-

Rose insisted he stay put instead of going out to look for them. “As soon as you leave, they’ll come through that door,” she insisted. “And then _they’ll_ have to go out and look for you.”

He knew she was probably right. So, he waited.

-

It was Rose’s idea to call the police just after midnight. “Better safe than sorry,” she said as she dialed the number. The burning nausea in Alex’s throat hadn’t disagreed with her.

-

It was almost three in the morning. They’d missed their chance to play. Alex didn’t care. The Orpheum didn’t matter to him anymore. His band, his family, had been missing for four hours.

Rose was still with him. She sat on the floor beside him, their knees touching. She hadn’t spoken much in the last couple of hours. There were only so many times she could insist that everything was fine.

He didn’t ask her when her shift had ended.

He didn’t know at what point through his three anxiety attacks in as many hours, that Rose had become a friend, but she was still there with him, holding his hand.

-

At 5:30am the police showed up.


	2. Life's a test, yes, but you go toe-to-toe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex struggles with the next few days after his band's death. Rose is there to help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before we start: TW for description of bodies. It's not long or graphic but if you'd rather not read it then skip the section that starts with "It was Alex’s job..."

_He’s playing the drums. Every beat feels like his sticks are hitting water. The sound is too muffled to reach his ears._

_They’re playing to an empty theater. The boys jump around the stage, alive with the music._

-

As Alex woke, reality trickled in mercifully slowly. His friends were dead. He knew that. The knowledge had settled deep in his gut even before he’d opened his eyes. But the emotion tied to it seeped in at a snail’s pace. _Luke is dead_.

He remembered the police arriving. After that, his memories blurred into panic and grief and Rose’s hand in his. _Reggie is dead._

There was none of that now. Maybe for the first time in his life, there was no anxiety. There was no sadness either. No grief or anger. What was left was a numb feeling, lodged in his chest like a shard of ice. He could feel it with every breath, solid and cold and stuck fast deep inside of him.

_Bobby is dead._

He was nestled into the studio’s couch, his head almost falling over one side and his legs far over the other. Waking up in the studio wasn’t a new experience. There’d been countless nights he’d used a late practice as an excuse to not go home. What was new, was the blanket tucked around his shoulders. It was Luke’s. It smelled like Luke. He wasn’t going to be happy that Alex had taken it.

 _Luke is dead_.

The door to the studio clicked open. “Oh, hey, you’re awake.” Rose smiled at him from the doorway. In her arms were two cups from the coffee shop down the street. The one too expensive for them to ever go to.

“Hey,” Alex said. His voice felt strange in his throat. Hollow.

He didn’t have the energy to be surprised to see her. He’d just woken up, but he wanted nothing more than to curl back into the couch and wait for-

For what?

They weren’t coming back.

Rose moved slowly, skirting her way around the couch to perch on the beanbag chair. Reggie had picked it up off the side of the curb. He was going to go wild about a _girl_ sitting on his dumpster beanbag. _Reggie is dead._

“Tea or coffee?” she asked, raising both cups up.

He stared for a moment, unsure what she was asking. _Oh. To drink_. “Tea. Please.”

She nodded and handed it over to him. He held the cup in his hands without drinking, drawing comfort from the warmth leeching into his fingers.

When he said nothing more, Rose cleared her throat. “You… you wouldn’t let me bring you into the house last night, so I brought you here instead. You were pretty out of it.”

Alex nodded. The memories were blurry, but he could recall the panic he’d felt at the sight of the house.

The building next to the studio could only be called a house by the skeleton of its foundations. While most of the walls were still standing, the inside had almost completely collapsed. There was enough space for a makeshift living room and bedroom, where they all slept in sleeping bags with cushions and blankets scavenged from goodwill stores to at least make it semi-comfortable. The only other room they could enter without fearing for their lives had been converted into something that resembled a kitchen.

The word kitchen was used in the loosest possible way. Only half of the room was usable. They’d found a mini fridge in a dumpster and kept it stocked with a small amount of perishable food. The only other piece of furniture was a large chest that served as their one and only cabinet.

They may have all lived there, but in Alex’s mind, the house belonged to Bobby. _Bobby is dead_.

It was one of the many properties his parents owned. They rarely ever visited Hollywood, even less so after their son had moved there permanently.

His parents had agreed to keep the water running and the power on if the boys managed to scrounge up enough to pay them any sort of rent each month. They hadn’t asked questions, and Bobby had never offered answers as far as Alex knew.

Did they know Bobby was dead? Did Reggie’s folks know? Did Luke’s?

The thought almost shut him down again. The grief he’d managed to avoid since waking up was rushing in all at once. The ice had grown, and now it settled around his lungs, growing tighter with every breath.

Then there was an arm around his shoulders. Rose. Still there.

He didn’t ask why. He was too grateful for her presence. All he could do was sit with her hand firmly gripping his shoulder, and the tea warming his palms.

-

_Bobby tuns back to grin at him. His hair is slicked up with disinfectant._

-

Grief always seemed easy in the movies. Grief was blankets and bed all day. Grief was exhaustion and tears. Grief was a gravestone and sad speeches.

What was never shown was the bits in between.

-

Alex hadn’t realized how much he’d relied on the boys until they were gone. He’d thought he could handle being alone. He was the capable one in the band, the one who set out rules and made sure they didn’t waste their money on new guitar strings before they’d bought groceries for the week.

But he wasn’t used to doing anything by himself. Before the Orpheum, he hadn’t spent more than maybe an hour alone at a time. Everywhere he’d went, he’d gone with at least one of the boys in tow. Grocery trips had always been with Luke. Movies with Bobby. Thrifting with Reggie.

He didn’t know how to function alone. Now every room was too empty, every second too quiet, every choice too momentous to make by himself.

Maybe he’d said it out loud at some point. Maybe she just knew. But Rose seemed to understand. He didn’t ask her to stay, but she never mentioned leaving.

As he rode the bus to the coroner’s office, Rose was by his side, hand in his.

-

_Luke jumps up onto the drum platform. His face is stone cold and gray. There’s no smile on his lips._

-

It was Alex’s job to identify the bodies.

_“Yes, it’s them.”_

He’d been preparing to see his best friends laid out under white sheets. Instead, he’d been shown to iron doors set in rows along a brick wall. The coroner opened each door with a robotic efficiency, yanking metal trays out one after the other. The things laid out for Alex did not look like his friends. For a moment, he was almost relieved. There had been a mistake. They weren’t dead after all. These were someone else’s bandmates. Someone else who was not Alex and could never be Alex.

_“Yes, I’m sure.”_

It couldn’t be them because Reggie had never laid so still. He’d never seen Luke without a smile. He’d never seen Bobby with his hair swept up like that, thick with gel and disinfectant.

But then he looked further and could recognize the slant of Luke’s jaw. The curve of Reggie’s cheekbones. The callouses on Bobby’s fingers.

_“Yes, they have families.”_

The coroner was very professional. All it took was the slightest nod from Alex. Then the bodies that were no longer his friends were shut away out of sight again. He didn’t offer any apologies or condolences. Alex was thankful for that.

Rose turned him away with a comforting squeeze of the shoulder.

_“Thank you, for your cooperation.”_

He signed his name where he was told. He was given important information, which he immediately forgot. The coroner talked to him for a while and then, when he finally realized Alex wasn’t paying attention, switched to talking to Rose.

They were in and out in under ten minutes.

Ten minutes, and his family were all officially dead in the eyes of the law.

Ten minutes and Alex was officially alone.

-

_Reggie turns around last. His playing slows. He stops moving. He stands still in the center of the stage. There’s no movement, no playing, no singing. He’s still._

-

Rose volunteered to enter the house after three days of Alex sleeping in the studio. She reasoned that he at least needed new clothes, and the food kept in their crappy mini fridge was probably expired by now. She wasn’t pushy or frustrated. She just laid out the logic, and let Alex choose.

Eventually he gave her the key.

-

The band phone was an old piece of junk shaped like a hamburger. It was one of the very few possessions Reggie had brought with him from home. They’d handed the number out to hundreds of clubs and agents. Alex couldn’t remember a single person who’d ever called them back.

He would’ve forgotten it even existed, except the day after the Orpheum, it started ringing.

Alex had made the mistake of answering it the first few times. In the back of his head, there was still the hope that maybe the police would call. _“We made a mistake! Those bodies aren’t your family after all.”_ Or maybe it’d be Luke, laughing into the speaker. _“Dude, you should’ve seen your face! As if I’d miss the chance to play at the Orpheum_.”

It wasn’t the police, and it wasn’t Luke.

Alex had never felt that Sunset Curve was _big_. Sure, sometimes they were recognized out in public, or he’d see someone wearing their shirts. They’d sold out at the Orpheum, so that probably meant they were doing something right. Still, their empty bank accounts proved that there was a long way to go. Fame had never been important to them. At the risk of sounding too much like Luke, Sunset Curve had always been about the _music_.

Apparently, they were big enough in the music scene to attract reporters. A lot of reporters.

They all started with the same pitch. “We want to tell _your_ side of the story.” As if he had one. His friends were dead. End of story. “This is your chance to salvage your career.” The idea made him feel sick. “The Sunset Curve fans want to hear from you.” Sunset Curve didn’t exist anymore.

Eventually every conversation would end the same way. “You lost your family, your career, and your band all in one night,” they’d say in the same giddy tone. “What are you going to do _now?_ ”

Then Alex would hang up.

Eventually Rose would be the one to answer. She’d always pick up the phone without a word and then slam it back onto the receiver a second later. He never asked what they’d said. She never even hinted that maybe he should talk to the press. He was sure they were printing whatever they wanted but… he didn’t care. What did it matter? Let the world think whatever the hell it wanted. The only people who cared were dead.

During the rare moments it would ring without Rose there, Alex would freeze. His body would lock up, lungs burning, eyes fixed on the stupid _stupid_ hamburger phone. _It’s just reporters_ he’d tell himself. It couldn’t be anyone else. It wasn’t Luke. It wasn’t Reggie. It wasn’t Bobby. It wasn’t. It wasn’t. It wasn’t.

He could only breath again when the ringing ended.

**-**

_Alex keeps moving to a beat he’s long forgotten. It’s hard to play. His limbs are too heavy to move._

_The boys watch him struggling through the song. Their lips are blue. Their eyes are closing._

_Alex tries to fight through it. He tries to play harder, tried to scream out the lyrics he’s forgotten. But he can’t. He can’t play alone. He can’t do this. They need to help him. They need to move! They need to sing!_

Alex bolted upright. The terror from the nightmare still burned raw in his throat. All he could do was clutch Luke’s blanket as his chest heaved between sobbing and hyperventilating.

Every night was the same.

His head throbbed with exhaustion.

He couldn’t do this anymore.

He couldn’t do this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it! Please leave a comment if you want more :D


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